


Cuddles

by pjlover666, silberstreif



Series: Collaboration [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Insane Competition, Jazz stubborn, Multi, Prowl is angry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pjlover666/pseuds/pjlover666, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silberstreif/pseuds/silberstreif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drunken Prowl and an interested Jazz leads to a very forgettable night together and initiates a competition that shatters all morale, pride and sanity. Until only one question remains: Who is the best in the berth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We've written many, many stories together and uploaded... less than 10 per cent. After counting the stories and getting a small shock we decided to change this. So here it comes, our most beloved monster: Cuddles.
> 
> Our goal: Upload one chapter a day at least until the 24th December 2013.
> 
> Fair warning: Not betaed.

**Cuddles**

  


**1\. Chapter**

  


The party was going at full blast tonight, the spirit of the entire crew exceptionally high. After an entire meta-cycle of bad outcomes they really had needed this win. And Pit, did they celebrate.

Jazz grinned as he took another drink from his cube of high grade, before laughing at something that Bumblebee had said. Absently, he wondered if someone noticed that the high grade had been switched with Sideswipe’s personal batch, and if someone would even care.

He kept musing over the latest mission, that had been a closer affair than most realized. Jazz had to admit, that if it wasn’t for Prowl’s quick thinking they wouldn’t be celebrating right now. Prowl… the spy’s mind warped around the thought of the Praxian. He was easy on the optics, Jazz would give him that, especially with those exotic sensor wings of his. Though, his stiffness did unnerve Jazz – he was such an outgoing mech and hated the silence that always seemed to surround Prowl .

To put it simply….well, Prowl was boring.

Jazz frowned at his last thought. Alright, Prowl’s personality wasn’t much, but he didn’t truly know the mech. Plus, Jazz added in his thoughts, Prowl cared deeply for his crew. No one worked as hard as he did. Prowl was good and nothing would change that in Jazz’s mind. And today’s celebration was proof of the tactician's skill and dedication.

Jazz looked around the room, trying to find the tactician responsible for tonight’s celebration. His spark sank in disappointment when he didn’t spot him. Prowl deserved a few hours of relaxing. Perhaps he should go and drag the Praxian here?

Just when Jazz was about to go and look for the tactician, he saw the doors to the rec room open and the mech haunting his thoughts enter. Prowl noticed him over the crowd and Jazz raised his glass of high grade in greetings. The Praxian nodded stiffly, like usual. A soft sigh escaped Jazz, some things never changed. Still, this party just got better, even if the spy didn’t quite grasp why he felt so much relief. It wasn't as if Prowl was the heart of the party ever and it would've been a sweet evening without him as well.

The next time that same night Jazz spotted Prowl, he nearly choked on his energon. The black and white was obviously overcharged, something Jazz hadn't believed to ever witness. But he didn’t have the processor capability to contemplate that, because Prowl, stuck-up PROWL, was dancing with such eroticism that Jazz’s vents were suddenly having a hard time cooling him.

Oh. Primus.

Jazz couldn’t look away. Prowl's optics were shuttered, on his lips a peaceful half-smile. Like in trance, his gaze followed every dance step of the tactician, the sliding movements of that bumper, the shakes of the hips and the up and downs of those elegant doorwings ( _oh_ , those wings…), that highlighted every twist of that sexy aft.

It was like watching liquid, shining metal. How in the Pit could a mech so stiff move with such fragging grace that even Jazz doubted he could imitate it? It was beautiful.

He was content to just sit there on the closest table to the Praxian and watch him dance all night long, when his perfect picture shattered. A different mech, Torch or whatever, he couldn’t remember right now, started joining Prowl.

Jazz drank more high grade, trying to hide his sudden sharp displeasure. That mech was a known berth hopper, no ties and too often tears. Jazz himself had engaged with him, but only for a single night of fun. Mech was nothing special really, nothing Jazz had wanted to go back for.

Torch smiled at the Praxian and touched him at the arm. Prowl barely reacted, too far gone in his dance and thanks to the highgrade. Torch's smile grew wider and he stepped behind the Praxian, moving now in tandem – or trying to, because even an amateur could see who the better dancer was.

Torch put his hands on the black and white hips of the Praxian, laying a claim as if Prowl belonged to him. As if Prowl had invited or ever shown an interest in him!

Suddenly, the saboteur realized that he didn’t want Prowl spending the night with this mech. True, Prowl was a fully grown-up mech, capable of making his own decisions, but well… Prowl was a good mech, so, Jazz’s slightly inebriated mind concluded, he needed a good mech as a companion. And Torch wasn’t that mech.

Prowl had now started to turn around, to touch back, still with the half-smile on his face, optics barely a shade lighter than before. The tactician obviously wasn’t aware of his actions, because Jazz was certain the tactician wouldn’t grope a mech so freely in public, or let a mech grope him for that matter.

Now, Torch even dared to touch the doorwings! Deciding to act before things got even more raunchy and out of control, Jazz gulped the rest of his high grade down and headed towards the dance floor. He would get Prowl back to his quarters and return back to the party. Simple as that.

Jazz tapped Torch’s shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” he inquired sweetly.

Prowl was oblivious, dancing on as if Jazz didn't exist, while Torch looked annoyed. Yup, he definitely was looking for an easy lay.

The mech was about to protest, but Jazz casually placed a hand on his shoulder and _gripped_ , “I asked, mind if I cut in?” Torch staggered, not able to keep up with the Praxian anymore who with two steps danced away.

Torch bristled, but after receiving Jazz's glare, he only shook his head and smiled in obvious apology. “Okay, okay, all yours mech.”

Jazz nodded and watched Torch muttering something as he walked away. Jazz allowed a quick victory gin. Too fragging easy. But now he had a drunken Praxian, dancing rather distractingly a few feet next to him.

“C’mon Prowler, let’s get you to a berth.” Jazz placed a hand on the tacticians elbow and gently started to lead him out of the rec room. Prowl stumbled along, as the constant movement stopped him from dancing. Blue, light optics tried to focus on Jazz and failed.

“Yes, lets,” Prowl slurred in his audio, a hint of confusion in his voice.

Oh, Jazz was having so much fun! Prowl would be mortified in the morning once he told him how he acted.

“Whoa, easy there!” Jazz was able to stop Prowl from giving the ground a kiss as he tripped over nothing at all. Deciding Prowl needed more support, he placed the slightly bigger mech's arm over his shoulders and steadied him by the waist, ignoring how Prowl pressed close to him. It was just Prowl's core codes, seeking stability. Nothing more, and certainly nothing that deserved any reaction of his. Now if he stopped growing warm...

“You know…” Prowl started in his drunken haze, “I was reaaally worried about you.”

Surprised, Jazz asked, “Really?”

“Oh yes.” Prowl nodded rather violently and nearly made them both fall, “I hate giving you such dangerous tasks. Or seeing you injured. I really, _really_ hate it when you’re injured.”

“Hah, yeah I hate that too.” Jazz agreed, feeling lighter than in a long time, “But thanks.” So the emotionless tactician actually had feelings? He really was a good mech.

When they reached Prowl’s quarters, the tactician was able enter the right code at his third try, after wondering aloud if he had changed the codes a few joors ago or not. Jazz chuckled at his efforts, that had the same serious determination he showed all of his work.

Gently, he guided the bot inside the practically furbished, quite dark room and towards the berth. As he was about the lay Prowl down, he found himself pulled rather clumsily on the berth and a drunken Praxian over him, pinning him to the soft mesh-metal.

“Leaving so soon?” Prowl slurred, doorwings dropping unhappily.

“Primus, you are so drunk,” Jazz muttered, trying desperately to distract himself. It was oh so tempting. The berth, the warmth, the proximity.

And forced with undeniable proof – his vents were working hard by now – he had to admit that Prowl was attractive with his wings and all… Ohh, those wings were right above them, so close in reach. He had to restrain himself from touching them or otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop.

Jazz gasped as Prowl tweaked a wire. Now he definitely had to leave. Prowl would be furious, not to mention humiliated, in the morning. If this was some other bot, he wouldn’t have held back like this. But this was Prowl. Prowl! A mech with iron-clad principles. Morales. A mech that deserved someone better than Jazz. Something better than drunk interfacing with a random mech.

Jazz gently pushed Prowl off him. The tactician toppled unceremoniously on the other side of the berth, looking adorably confused at his change of position. With blue optics he looked up towards Jazz, wings in attention position.

“Let’s just recharge, yeah?” Jazz tried to stand up, but clever hands pulled him down again. Never let it be said again, that tactician's didn't know about the weight center in mechs.

“Why?” Prowl asked, holding him tight like a sparkling toy. Jazz was distracted by the quiver of his wings and the hum of Prowl's engine against his. He shuttered his optics, counted to three and said:

“Cuz you’re so overcharged, you can’t tell Megsy from OP.”

Prowl nuzzled him, wings twitching and Jazz's resolve shattered. A hand extended towards those enticing wings displayed like that. He carefully started to pet them. The Praxian began to hum – no, _purr_ \- against him.

“Hmm, true.” Prowl sighed, his wings relaxing completely and his entire body slumping on top of Jazz, clearly tired.

Jazz smiled, noticing that his petting was triggering Prowl to fall into recharge. “You know, I worry ‘bout you too.”

“Hmm?” Halfway in recharge, Prowl muttered, engine purring in complete abandon.

“Well, yeah.” Jazz continued softly, “You do so much for us, the Autobots.” He lowered his voice down to a whisper, “For me.”

It was true, though Jazz usually didn't think about it. Didn't think how else, so much worse, it could be. He never allowed Jazz to take a mission if the success rate including Jazz's survival was below 85 per cent. And that was hard work – work that Jazz doubted that the rest of the crew noticed. Something he only himself saw, when he looked towards other bases.

Prowl didn't answer his last comment anymore.

Jazz smiled at the recharging mech, his face looking so peaceful now, softer, more innocent. He pulled his hand back from the exotic door wings. Suddenly, he really didn’t want to go back to that party. It just felt so good here, pressed like that next to Prowl. So warm.

Jazz lifted a hand to caress the bright red chevron of the mech and felt Prowl sigh, arms wrapping more securely around Jazz and pulling him close. He _definitely_ didn’t want to return to the party now.

Mind made up, Jazz cuddled closer to Prowl, relishing in the warmth of the body pressed next to him. Stuck up, stiff and cold even, Prowl was a good mech who deserved to find someone just as good. Jazz would help him. It was the least he could do. After all, Prowl did so much for him in his missions.

Content, he offlined his visor, and fell into recharge – still smiling.

0000

Normally, Prowl came out of recharge well rested and with an exact list of what to do the next few joors. Normally wasn't now. His inner alarm clock chimed and when he came back to awareness all that accompanied him was a huge processor ache. His memory core came online without giving him any idea how he got into his berth and only fragments of the time before recharge. Fragments of a victory party.

He groaned, concluding – rightfully so – that he somehow had gotten drunk. For the first time in over two hundred vorns. How could he have been so careless? But slowly he realised that he had a bigger problem then corrupted memory files. He was in a berth, so much so good. But he wasn't alone.

With great trepidation he online his optics – and saw directly into the relaxed face of Jazz.

Prowl suddenly felt cold. Jazz. With him. In a berth. In Prowl's room. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened, and that Prowl's battle computer put the likelihood of interfacing at 94.23 per cent didn't help at all.

Slowly, careful not to wake the recharging mech, he backed away and slid off the berth. Then he stood in his room and stared at the saboteur, who was famous for his casual flings that left no one hurt. He liked Jazz, the skilled Autobot who had never trash talked Prowl – at least not that the tactician had heard of. But he wouldn't have wanted to interface with him. Not like this. Not drunk and without any memory. Not for pure enjoyment, just another one in a long series of name.

What should he do now? Wake Jazz? Kick him out? Would Jazz demand 'more'? Prowl wasn't ready to give more. Interfacing was a matter of trust and love for him, not something that just happened.

No. It was best if he simply walked away. He heard of other one nightstand’s doing this. Maybe it was even expected? Yes. Surely it was the best. No misunderstandings could happen this way.

The processor ache pounded on in his helmet. This was just one terrible mistake.

He looked to the washing rack, then back to the berth. The cleaning fluids would probably wake Jazz, and that he wanted even less than walking around dirty. After all, they had similar paint jobs and as long as no one would look for it, they might just think that it was Prowl's own finish.

And so Prowl turned and walked out to begin a normal, busy orn of his. And if he hid himself in his office a bit more than normal, tried to avoid every place which Jazz usually frequented and only felt utter relief when no one came to trouble him... well, no one could really blame him, right?

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Chapter 2

 

Before Jazz fully onlined, his hand stretched over the soft padding of the berth, searching for something, or rather someone. Feeling only the cold covers, he activated his visor feeling rather disappointed when he found the berth empty.

“Prowl?” Jazz sat on the berth, looking around the room still sleepily. His head lightly troubled him, but he had survived a lot worse hangovers than this one. He wondered how Prowl must be feeling. Probably experiencing a world of pain. They drank from Sideswipe’s brew – it gave one pit of a buzz, but the hangover was merciless.

Jazz slowly stood up and stretched, looking around the quarters. They were pretty empty, barely any personal possessions or colors. Altogether, the room was rather dull. Well, this _was_ Prowl’s room.

He wondered why Prowl would flee like this. It’s not like they did anything… his thought came to an abrupt stop. The Praxian was so overcharged last night, that he didn’t know up from down. And Jazz was a known berth-hopper. Prowl was more than able to put two and two together.

The spy groaned. This was just great, Prowl probably had come to the wrong conclusion. He should better find him as fast as possible and set things straight. He didn’t want the tactician to think he took advantage or something of the sort. They weren’t the closest of friends, but still he owed the mech an explanation.

And he knew just where to find him, that slagging workaholic. He went straight for Prowl's office.

Surprisingly, outside stood two mechs, both carrying pads. Jazz winced at the amount of them and felt so Primus damn lucky that he had more field work than this. With Prowl's hangover all this data work was probably a special kind of pit.

“Hey, mechs. What’re you doing outside Prowl’s office?” Jazz asked with a friendly smile as he came to a stop in front of them.

“Waiting for Stiffy to open the slagging door.” One of them, casually leaning on the door, answered.

Frowning, Jazz asked rather flatly, “Stiffy?”

“Yeah, cuz he’s so stiff and all.” The second ‘bot snicker, making Jazz glare at him. Sure, he had thought the same just yesterday, but Prowl deserved better and really, they all knew it. And thinking was not the same as fragging talking about it outside of said mech's office.

“Aw, come on, Jazz. You know it’s true,” the first one started with a smile.

Something inside Jazz snapped. The little thread in his mind called _fragging reason_ shattered and he opened his mouth.

The Pit broke loose.

“Now, I wouldn’t say that.” He started, “I mean, c’mon, did you see him last night! Those moves, the way he danced. Did you see how he _bended_?”

And pit, even in his memories it was erotic. If Prowl ever needed a second career, this could be it.

Both mechs stopped snickering and stared at Jazz. “Yeah,” The first one said thoughtfully, “We also saw you leaving with him.”

Jazz smirked. He was about to blow Prowl’s reputation sky-high. No one would ever call him 'stiffy' again. “Yes. I swear to Primus, best lay ever.”

“…What?” The second mech gaped.

“You heard me.” Jazz crossed his arms, “I guess it’s to be expected, mech has a battle computer and all – he is good! Mind-blowingly good. Knows just where to touch. Not to mention those door wings of his. Delicious.”

“You’re joking.”

“Am not,” Jazz said confidently. “Why would I? Just because the mech doesn’t like showing off, doesn’t mean he isn’t good. Primus, just thinking about it makes my armor vibrate. He liked to be in charge – very powerful demeanor. Those hands of his?” He made a whistling sound, “I’ll never look at them the same way as before.”

Suddenly, before the other mechs could question him more, the door to Prowl’s office opened. The first mech who was leaning on the door fell rather clumsily, the pads he was holding scattering all around him.

Prowl stood at the door way, wings held higher than usual and face in a cold expression. Jazz’s story was backed up by Prowl’s appearance. The Praxian’s optics were rather dim, armor dirty and scuffed, not to mention white streaks from Jazz’s own armor on him from when Prowl pinned him more forcefully to the berth.

Jazz winced. Did Prowl just hear all of that? Well, a part of Jazz mused, at least he didn’t say that Prowl liked to spank. All humor died in Jazz when he saw Prowl’s cold gaze directed at him.

This wasn’t good.

0000

Prowl's orn started well. He was left alone, mostly, no one asked about anything and he could do his work. After a few joors even his processor ached receded to more manageable levels. Levels that would let most mechs only curse, instead of making them seek out their own final resting place.

Slowly, his shaken confidence repaired itself. He had interfaced with Jazz, so what? It could have been worse. He could have found Sideswipe in his berth, or, Primus forbid, Bluestreak! Jazz would understand what happened, and probably didn't expect anything from him now. Prowl just needed to make it clear, that they would carry on like before. That was all.

A chime alerted him to the fact that someone stood outside of this door. He had installed it after a few too many pranks (and one or two deliberate poisonings, but nothing had ever been proven), and quite liked to be forewarned that someone was coming. But instead of asking to come in, the mechs simply kept standing in front of his door and his system kept ringing.

And _ringing_.

Prowl grew annoyed. Every single chime was painful for his head. Usually, he would have waited longer, but today he had no patience or pain-tolerance left. So he stood, was at the door with a few fast strides and opened it.

He barely managed to step aside to avoid a mech falling against him. Instead the Autobot caused a mess with himself and the datapads on the floor. Prowl grew even more annoyed, knowing that now he could sort out these pads anew. More work. Great.

Then, he looked at the rest of the group that was staring at him with wide optics – the left one being Jazz. Panic rushed over the tactician for a moment, before he banished all feelings. Logic, he needed logic and didn't he have a plan what to do about Jazz as well? Yes, he had.

He just needed to act as normal.

“Good day, gentlemechs.” He looked at the one on the floor. “Kippler, if you would be so kind to pick up the datapads, I need them. Quickturn, do you have the supply reports with you?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” Quickturn gave them to him.

He took them, slowly getting more sure and daring to look at Jazz. The saboteur seemed to be rested, and obviously hadn't as bad a processor ache as he did. Instead, he now seemed to be nearly embarrassed... and this fact helped Prowl immensely with his confidence.

“Jazz,” what to say? - “I have much work to do today, so please don't disturb me.” Maybe this hadn't been the best sentence? But it was true and he didn't know what else to say in front of strangers. How else to make clear that he didn't want a repeat or anything... He turned and plucked the pads out of Kippler's servos. “I wish you a good orn, Jazz.”

Without another word he returned into the sanctuary of his office, hoping that the saboteur got his meaning: All is normal, all is as before.

0000

Well, Jazz mused as he kept blinking at the closed door of the tactician’s office, this could have gone a whole lot better.

Prowl was obviously pissed. Jazz sighed. He’ll just have to talk to the Praxian later. He was obviously busy with work and judging from the looks of his paint job, still suffering from the hangover.

His shift starts in a couple joors. Better take a shower and recharge some more, that way he would confront Prowl with a fresh processor and explain everything before the rumor mill got out of control. The last thing he needed was Prowl being pissed at him for this as well.

Resigned, he left with a wave at the two bots in front of the office and headed for his quarters. Everything would be alright. Once he told Prowl the truth, everything would go back to normal, and if Jazz was lucky, his plan to boost Prowl’s reputation would work as well.

Smiling, Jazz entered his room. Yes, everything would be just fine.

Or not.

0000

Rarely had a rumor mill experienced as sharp an increase as this time. The last vorn had brought nothing but routine and the bots were starved for some delicious interesting news... and Jazz's report of Prowl's exceptional prowess in the berth was definitely that.

 “Have you heard...?” became probably the sentence most often muttered, followed by surprise and then by grins.

A whole base took the opportunity to turn around, to assess the tactician, to discover that yes, Praxian's had an elegant, beautiful frame and Prowl gave it a quiet, elegant twist with a dignity, that hid, well, much.

Soon stories crept up, of mechs that had heard of other mechs that had a friend... that confirmed Prowl's story. No one was sure, how much truth these contained, but after vorns of nothing to gossip about, no one really cared. This was new, this was exciting, and more than one wanted to suddenly confirm Jazz's story.

One, because Prowl really was a great catch, if you ignored his stiff behavior (how had they missed that for vorns?) and mechs wanted a good interfacing. And two, because it alleviated the boredom and would be easily something that would turn anyone into the center of the base's social circles, and three, because mechs were just curious, after all Prowl was suddenly a new factor in a small base.

All together, there were more than enough reasons to become active.

And a few did exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And slowly it begins...


	3. Chapter 3

  
**Chapter 3**

  


The first hint that Prowl's wish for peace was far from reality came when he got his Energon in the evening. As he entered the rec room and walked through the crowd, he had the strange feeling of being observed. But the moment he turned around, every single Autobot seemed occupied with other things. And this kept happening. In the rec room. In the hallways. In the storage room. Everywhere.

Really, he wasn't that dirty compared to a few other residents, especially considering that most of Jazz's paint streaks had been repaired by the nano self-repairs over the course of the orn.

The next orn he managed to avoid the saboteur. But the feeling that he was observed didn't lessen at all. On the contrary, every bot he met seemed to stare at him, or his aft. Or both. Maybe he was just going paranoid?

In the evening, he was stopped in the rec room as he was getting his Energon.

“Hey Prowl,” said one of the bots. “You've got free time now?”

He nodded. “Yes. How can I help you?” The bot, Skywinder, was responsible for the weapon management. Did they need new parts?

“Oh, eh,” For a moment the flier was unsure, then he smiled. “I was just wondering if you want to sit down with us, enjoy the evening together so to speak...”

Sit down? Prowl looked to Skywinder's table at which two other bots were sitting. “Well, maybe another orn? I'm pretty tired today already.”

Skywinder stared, then nodded fast. “Of course. When you're in need for company... just consider it, yes? We – I – would be there.”

Prowl felt his spark warming. He had never before seen Skywinder as a possible friend, but maybe he had judged the flier unfairly. “Thank you. I appreciated it.”

It could've ended here. It didn't. This was just the first of a whole series of strange and stranger conversations:

“Please, Kippler, just put the data pads on the desk. The most recent ones on the top,” he said distracted, reading one of the new statistics fresh from Iacon.

“Of course, sir!”, came the unusual enthusiastic answer. “You're always on top of your game, right?”

Prowl looked up and stared. Kippler grinned back and waggled with his optic ridges. Prowl stared some more. The grin of the other mech didn't lessen. Prowl looked down on his datapad again. Maybe he should slot Kippler for an extended vacation. “Right...”

Not that the medics were any better:

“And all of your equipment is in working order, sir?” asked Patch, the lead medic, politely after checking the battle computer as every deca-orn.

“Yes.”

“Good, good... “ The medic nodded. “Please be careful, when you use rarely utilized systems in a heavily, and I'm sure very enjoyable, manner, though you seem to be more than experienced...” He stopped as he saw Prowl's frown. “I mean no disregard or something.”

“I've used my whole equipment for several hundred vorns regularly,” said Prowl as a matter of fact. “I think I know how to take care of them.” Really, it was nice of the medic to understand that what was commonly dubbed battle computer, was in reality several small computers and databanks together. But just because he didn't use them all regularly, didn't mean that he would hurt himself.

The medic took a step back from Prowl. “Sorry, I just wanted to...”

Prowl sighed. Medic programming – always overly zealous. “Don't worry, Patch. Be assured, I'll be careful.”

Patch seemed satisfied and stepped near again, to complete the check-up. “Good. Or I could let my students work on you. They're excited about this anyway.”

“Really?” A battle computer was not exactly common, but then it wasn't really a piece of tech that stood out like say the legendary spy Mirage's illusion.

“Of course.” The medic smiled in fondness as he thought about his students. “They're young after all.”

They weren't the only ones. After a meeting with the other officers of the base, the combat trainer called him to stay:

“I just wanted to tell you, that I'm using you as an example in teaching the new recruits.”

Prowl was taken aback. “As an example? I?”

“Oh yes.” The trainer smiled. “We're always looking for ways to drill into their heads that not all is as it seems... and you're wonderful for this. Most bots would think you boring, but beneath...” The spy coughed. “Well, you know.”

Prowl didn't, but he nodded anyway. “So... That means what exactly?”

The Autobot shrugged. “Nothing, really.” He gave Prowl a considering glance. “But I've got to admit, I was nearly fooled as well. Silent mercury really runs deep.”

“I've always liked that proverb,” admitted the tactician and allowed a small smile. “I'm afraid you've to excuse me now, I'm awaited in Room 23-E.”

0000

Jazz wasn’t a mech that got easily annoyed. But Prowl was testing his patience. The mech was acting ridiculously! But what actually annoyed Jazz was the fact that Prowl was able to slip pass him like this. He was fragging Ops! How was that mech capable of avoiding him like this? It baffled the spy. He was tempted to simply go and blast his way into that office, frag the consequences.

But that wasn’t the only reason why he was feeling like this, Jazz thought rather depressed. Even if they didn’t do it, was the thought of interfacing with Jazz such a horrible thing that Prowl won’t even look at him anymore? Did Prowl truly dislike him this much now?

Frustrated, Jazz took another sip of energon in his corner of the rec room. Well, sooner or later they would have to talk. After all, Prowl planned most of Jazz missions. He couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Yo, Jazz.” He looked up to see Skywinder and Kippler approaching.

“Yo.” Jazz placed a smile on his face.

“We were wondering if you knew what things Prowl liked.”

“What?” Jazz asked amused.

“Well,” Kippler started with a shrug, that was supposed to be casual, but failed miserably, “He doesn’t respond to our hints, but I guess it’s because he’s an elite.”

Jazz nearly choked on his energon again. What in the world?! Yes, he heard all of the gossip going on in the rumor mill, some stories more unbelievable than the rest. But... this, really? He briefly wondered if Prowl was even aware of his new admirers. But judging from his highly developed (read non-existant) social skills, the mech probably had no idea. Another reason why Jazz needed to speak with him ASAP.

“Umm, not really,” Jazz answered honestly. “But you could try with bringin’ him energon. Mech’s so busy with his work most times I wonder if he even refuels.”

Not to mention, that he really was starting to get worried. He never saw Prowl in the rec room anymore. Either the mech was that good and chose the precise moments when Jazz wasn’t there or simply didn’t refuel. Jazz truly hoped it was the first case, otherwise he would really break down Prowl’s door just to simply kick the slag out of him for his stupidity. For a mech smart as Prowl, he sure was clueless in some aspects.

The mechs in front of him smiled. “Yes, that sounds like a nice idea,” Skywinder agreed. “We can even give him some energon goodies. I know a mech who can have them shipped here in less than two orns.”

With a chuckle, Jazz answered, “Yeah, you do that.”

He certainly didn’t regret what he did. For the first time since he came here to this base, Prowl was actually popular. More than Jazz himself. And the tactician was oblivious to everything.

Which brought Jazz back to his problem – how to talk with Prowl? Again annoyed, he gulped down his energon. It didn’t matter. Sooner or later he and Prowl would have to talk about missions.

Briefly he wondered, if he should be horrified at the attempts of the base to try and get in Prowl’s berth, or laugh his aft off.

Well. He looked to Kippler and Skywinder, who were scheming with serious faces on the table next to him. Jazz smirked. For now, he would simply sit back and watch the show.

0000

On the fourth orn after the incident, the base commander called Prowl with a request: Prepare a Special Operations mission. The mission parameters were simple: In the east of the base a former bunker had been found with extensive tunnel systems. Near of it had been several Decepticon sightings. It would be bad if a group of Cons would be able to reach the tunnels and barricade themselves inside of them. So it was decided, with Prowl's statistics as a help, that the tunnels would be destroyed in a preemptive attack.

It was not an especially dangerous mission and the classic work of a saboteur, which meant that the bot on top of the list of agents was Jazz. Prowl couldn't stop the slight drooping of his doorwings, when he walked back to his office.

(On the way he was sure, that someone was walking behind him, yet he didn't catch them, not once... maybe it was all stress related? He looked several times back, but then he bumped into a corner, the datapads fell and he was distracted with picking them up again.)

This meant that he would have to meet Jazz. Alone, in his office. He feared that Jazz wanted to talk – normally something Prowl really wasn't adverse to, but about interfacing? Just no.

Still, as he started to work, he was determined that this wouldn't influence his normal efficiency. And soon it became apparent, that it didn't. Not only did he reach the required 85 per cent of success probability, but he nearly scratched the 98 per cent mark, which was his own personal record. Was this because the mission was so simple, he mused, or because he wasn't able to forget how warm Jazz had been in his berth...?

He banished the last thought. Though, not exactly successfully, because now that he remembered, he had to admit that he had been comfortable, before the realization had set in. And really, it had been a long time, since he had a decent interfacing... It was just his luck, that he didn't like casual and drunk. At all.

Far too soon the mission plan was finished and all that was left, was the debriefing.

Really, tried Prowl to convince himself, nothing would happen. Jazz was a nice, friendly bot, who would probably nod, smile and then accept the mission. Nothing else. Jazz wasn't that kind of bot who would demand more.

He looked up, when Swifttail entered his office, a young bot with a very long tail, who never before had done anything wrong... Why he had suddenly started to hack into the officer's personal files was a mystery to the tactician. Luckily, he only managed to get to Prowl's.

“I've finished my punishment detail, sir,” said Swifttail with a shy smile.

Prowl nodded satisfied. “I hope this will not happen again?”

Swifttail wrought his hands, obviously embarrassed: “Of course not, I'm really sorry...”

“Good.” Prowl wanted to dismiss him, but then his optics fell on Jazz's missions plan: “Please find Jazz and tell him to come into my office. Also tell the crew that we need to be undisturbed for the next two joors. After this, you're free until your shift.”

Swifttail stared, optics flickering with surprise for a moment, then he nodded: “O-of course. Is that all?”

“For the moment, yes.” Prowl smiled. “I'll call, if I have need of you.”

The tail switched violently, and the bot nodded. Then, he hurried outside.

Prowl relaxed into his chair. Worrying what would happen when Jazz came... but surely, this was just about the mission. If Jazz would try anything, against all probabilities, he would just not listen. And continue talking about their job – the mission. And Jazz better would listen, because it was his life on the line, not Prowl's.

The tactician frowned at the thought of Jazz's death and took the datapad into his hand again. Surely, he had thought about everything? Suddenly feeling unsure, he started to calculate everything again – to keep Jazz safe, but also to calm his own circuits.


	4. Chapter 4

  
**4\. Chapter**

 

Feeling quite grumpy, Jazz fiddled with his report in the rec room. It was strange, that only when he was in a sour mood he bothered to do these horrid duties. But if he finished these reports then that would mean he would get to see Prowl, because he could deliver them personally. 

Before, he never really gave much attention to the quiet tactician, but for the last couple of orns, he couldn’t stop think about him! Not to mention that every conversation held in this base was Prowl related. Prowl's aft this, Prowl's doorwing that. Primus really hated him.

Just as he finished with the report, he felt a presence behind him and Jazz turned to see Swifttail fidgeting.

“Need somethin’, Switch’?” Jazz asked friendly. No point in being rude to the others.

The tailed mech seemed to snap out of his daze, “Uh, yeah. Prowl wants you in his office.”

Jazz’s processor nearly locked on the spot. Prowl? Prowl wanted him in his office? Now? What the frag? After doing everything in his power to avoid the saboteur, suddenly he wanted to see him in his office… Oh. Jazz came to a realization. It was probably because of a mission. No matter how pissed at him Prowl may be, the Praxian would never hinder a mission. Which meant that they would be alone! Jazz would be able to talk, finally, with the stubborn glitch!

In a hurried frenzy, Jazz quickly tucked the data pads in his subspace and headed towards the office. Surprisingly, he felt someone following him. He looked back and it was Swifttail. He ignored the bot – he probably was headed towards the base commander’s office. That is, he believed that, until Switch’ missed the turn to head there. Feeling unnerved, Jazz came to a sudden halt (right in front of Prowl’s office) and turned, the other bot nearly colliding with him.

“Swifttail,” Jazz said calmly.

“Yeah?” The other bot asked nervously.

“Go hack something. Preferably not the officers files, yeah?”

Embarrassed, Swifttail nodded: “Sure, Jazz. Have a… pleasant orn.”

Only when he was sure that the tailed bot was far away, did he ping the doorbell. This was it. Prowl wants to calmly talk? Frag no. That time was over. He had his chance and missed it. Now Jazz was pissed.

The door opened and Jazz stomped inside. Prowl was sitting behind his desk as if nothing had happened, the slagger.

“Jazz, sit down, please. You have a mission,” Prowl started in his usual work voice.

Jazz would have none of that: “Frag the mission! You and I need to talk.”

The tactician frowned, obviously displeased. “Now is not the time. And I suggest you listen, because I will not repeat myself.” The Praxian clasped his hand together and placed them over the desk: “The mission is simple.”

“The Pit it is!” Jazz kicked the chair aside, no way he would sit! “Would it kill you to simply talk to me? I don’t eat mechs, jeez,” he said, showing that he was actually offended by Prowl’s treatment of him.

Prowl ignored that opening completely: “On the east of the base, a former bunker had been found with extensive tunnel structure.” The tactician went on and on.

“Just listen, will ya?!” Jazz raised his voice. He should probably tell Prowl about his little lie, because he was sure that the mech, not matter how socially stunted he was, must have noticed the strange behavior of the crew towards him.

“There were Decepticon sightings in that area.”

“Prowl!” Jazz hissed, “I…” He looked away. It was his fault that the rumour mill went so out of control like this. “I may have said some things to the other bots. Things about you.”

Prowl's reaction was non-existent: “And there is a chance that they could barricade themselves in there.”

Stubborn glitch of a tactician. Resigned, Jazz started a new tactic, “Alright, I get that you are pissed. But you have to understand that I did it for your own good! Can you even grasp what a legend you are now? Okay, I maybe went a little overboard but still… Are you even listening to me?!”

Prowl didn't look at him, just stared ahead and talked. He had never looked more like a drone then now. “Like I said, a simply sabotage mission. Destroy the tunnels.”

And just like that time in the morning after in front of Prowl’s office, something inside Jazz snapped again. If Prowl didn't give him his attention, than he would force matters.

“Aren’t you curios what I told them?” he asked in a more calm voice.

“I have created a plan insuring a success rate of nearly 98%.” Just as he expected, Prowl went on with his mission report, solidifying Jazz resolve to do this next.

“It’s a shame you don’t really remember. But don’t worry, I remember for the both of us-” Jazz went on evilly, “Plus, I’m an open bot and shared this with the rest of the crew.” He relished in the feeling of satisfaction when Prowl hitched in his report for a second. Jazz wouldn’t have resorted to this but he just needed to get Prowl’s attention! Why was that so hard?!

“I told them how we fragged each other senseless. Oh yeah, it was the best night of my life.” And this wasn’t entirely a lie, “Can you even imagine how talented those hands of yours are? Primus, they tweaked just the right wires. Oh, and you’re a great kisser, even if you strayed from my mouth, but I wasn’t complaining.”

Prowl was continuing with his debriefing, but was speaking more quietly. Jazz actually wished Prowl would tell him to shut up, at least if they have a fight, it won’t be work related. But the damn mech was just too stubborn.

“But of course you didn't stop there. You really showed your dominant side and let it all out. I should have guessed that beneath your cool plating lies a hot well of energy...” Prowl's wings flicked. “Mech, you used all that energy. Your tongue, down in my parts was something unimaginable. And when you pinned me against that wall and just took me again and again-” It shouldn't bring Jazz so much satisfaction to see Prowl taking up a datapad to hid his trembling hands. “I thought it couldn't get better. But it did. Because we managed to get to your berth, and hello, you're a player there, too. I don't think I could walk without thinking about you for the next orn. ”

Prowl's voice and become very quiet and hesitant. _Good._ There was the attention he had craved.

“Your equipment is nothing to scoff at. Definitely something I dream about. Brought me so much pleasure, that it was already nearly painful... but not that I'm complaining. You made me scream, after all.” He smiled and Prowl stared at this desk, silent now, wings fluttering like mad, the rest of his body stiff and frozen.

“I like it when a mech plays rough. You certainly did.” Jazz said and crossed his arms, “After all, you did notice the state of your pain job. Best overload of my life. It truly was.”

For a moment it was quiet in the office. Very quiet. Then Prowl deeply vented, trying to save his composure.

“That is all. Do you have any questions?” Prowl wouldn’t look at Jazz.

Jazz stared at Prowl for a couple of more seconds, the feeling of hurt increasing. Finally, he said annoyed, “That was the best night of my life.” That was the truth. He had liked the cuddling more than all previous experiences. Jazz smirked when Prowl gave a barely-there wince, face as mask as if made of steel.

“If you would _pleas_ e leave.” Prowl handed him the pad containing the details of the mission for Jazz to review later on his own, “I have much work to do.”

Jazz sighed, “I bet you do.” Resigned he took the pad. He had lost, no matter what he said Prowl would ignore him... fragging 'tastic. And he still hadn't told him the truth!

Before he left, he placed silently his finished reports on the desk. He didn’t hear a word about the mission so it would be best if he focused his mind on it. The last thing he wanted was fragging up on a mission. He’ll try to talk with Prowl again after the mission. Hopefully, he wouldn’t lose his cool like he had now and Prowl would simply listen.

Mechs can dream, right?

This was Prowl’s fastest debriefing ever, Jazz mused as he opened the door to the office and nearly collided with-

“Swifttail?” Who was standing in front of the door along with Skywinder and Kippler. And was that Quickturn peaking around the corner?

“That was fast,” Kippler commented.

“Yeah.” Jazz looked down at his pad, “He’s really busy so we had to make this quick.” Prowl usually took a lot more time to debrief Jazz. Not to mention that Jazz usually asked a lot of questions. This time though... Primus. He really could've handled this better.

“Ohhh.” The mechs looked at each other uncomfortably.

“Well, maybe next time he’ll make it up?” Swifttail offered kindly.

Jazz shook his head with a chuckle, “He better.” And he better listen to what Jazz had to say. He had no idea what would happen to the rumor mill in his absence. All he could do was hope there was a base to return to after his mission.

0000

Jazz had gone and Prowl tried to concentrate on his work. But he couldn't forget what Jazz had said, the detailed descriptions... they had not only mortified him, but also made him uncomfortably warm. To imagine that he did that all to Jazz... Primus. He wished he could remember, then maybe it wouldn't feel all so unreal and embarrassing. Then, maybe, he would be handling this better.

But he wasn't remembering. And now it seems that every single bot on base knew more about his night with Jazz than himself. Why? What did he do to deserve this?

After a joor of staring at his datapads, he stood and left his office. It made no sense to pretend to be working any longer. Absently, he hoped that Jazz heard at least some of the things he said, the warnings, the side notes... sure, most things were also on the mission pad, but never before had Jazz heeded out of base that ill prepared. Though, it was an easy mission. Surely, nothing would go wrong, Jazz would come back and then... well, Prowl feared that he still would want to talk.

He turned straight to the rec room and there to the energon dispenser deep in thought. But he never made the way.

“Sir, are you alright?” asked someone. 

He stopped and saw Kippler and several other mechs looking concerned. He tried to smile. “Sure. I just need a bit Energon.”

Two bots jumped suddenly up and ran to the dispenser. Prowl looked after them a bit startled.

“Of course,” Kippler nodded. “Understandable. To manage all the work and to still use that much energy is impressive.”

“Yes...?” The two bots returned in what has to be a new record, both with a whole tray of colourful energon cubes. 

“Sir,” said the left one. “I chose a few sweet one for you.” 

The other held his tray higher: “Mine are more bitter, but I mixed them fresh. If you would like to try?”

Stunned, Prowl nodded, an automatic reaction dating back to his younglinghood. They seemed happy and before Prowl could think, he had tried the bright yellow one, the green cube, and the standard rosa cube that fizzled a bit. Maybe they needed a neutral tester for the next party?

“They're all... very good,” he admitted with a smile. 

“Thank you! Then please, try this one! It's receipt his new, created in Iacon and the new must-drink there, I heard.”

He tried it. And the next one. And the one after that one. It took a while, until he understood that every single receipt was made with high-grade. They tasted so differently from the normal standard high-grade of his, that he had been fooled at first. Now, he was already a bit tipsy and in no condition to return to work. And after that conversation with Jazz he really deserved a break. So, why not, right? He drank a few more and joined them on their table. It was fun, he admitted. Never before had he been invited and it made him happy, smile a bit more, once even laugh...

When Quickturn – when did he come? - fell against him, he didn't mind. Not even when Quickturn begun cuddling him. It was so nice to be here, part of the group, just forgetting... certain saboteurs. Sadly, a few others on the table thought differently.

“So...” said Kibbler then. “I heard Jazz and you are... friends?”

“Yes.” Prowl sighed. Feeling the worry and shame returning. “I like him. He's a good bot, just a bit...” He made a handwave not even knowing what he meant, but it seems no one cared. “But skilled at what he does,” he added then, thinking about the mission, how has risked his life so often and always returned.

“You're quite skilled yourself, I've heard,” said another bot with a grin.

Prowl shrugged, a bit uncertain. Compliments were nothing he received often. “There is always someone better than you.” 

“Not on this base though...?” asked Quickturn.

Prowl had to chuckle. “No, not on this base.” He was the only tactician on base.

“Prowl!” The one sharp word cut through the rec room, letting the merry atmosphere die a very abrupt death. The tactician flinched and turned, and there in the doorway was standing his base commander, looking very much annoyed. “Come with me!”

Prowl wanted to melt into his seat. He had been caught drinking, drunk(!) in the rec room during his official shift time. Sure, normally nothing should happen and he nearly had no work left, but what kind of example was he setting? Had Jazz really rattled him this much? This would be at least a warning, maybe even brig time... he could forget his career. 

With a heavy spark, he carefully pushed Quickturn off him and stood. Maybe it was even worse and an emergency had happened and the base's only tactician was drunk? Jazz... please, Primus, don't let this happened.

He followed his commander to his office, in heavy guilty silence. When they entered, commander Streetbump closed the doors behind them and then turned without offering a seat to his subordinate:

“Prowl, you should know that I'm happy to see you showing an interest in the crew.” Streetbump sighed. “But I'm not sure that this is the right way.”

The tactician stared at his pedes. “Sorry, sir.”

The commander sighed. “It's not that bad. Just comm me the next time, right? I can't even punish you, or Patch would have my helmet. He's trying to get you to loosen up for vorns now.”

Prowl relaxed a it. No punishment? Seemed as if he needed to thank Patch. “Really?”

Streetbump gave him an unamused look. “Yes, really. I heard you're legendary among the medics in your workaholic ways.”

Prowl could only stand there and blink. The enjoyable buzz in his processor prevented any good answer, and so, after a few astroseconds, he only nodded. It was true, the medics had been pestering him about a vacation for a long time now.

Streetbump smiled a bit. “But that's not really the reason, why I called you out of the rec room.” He frowned. “I'm aware that you are skilled in this area, but were you really comfortable among these mechs?”

Prowl stared. Maybe it was the high-grade that didn't let him understand this sentence? “Maybe...?”

“Maybe isn't a yes, Prowl.” Streetbump laid a hand onto his shoulder. “Should they give you ever trouble, or try to force anything, I want you to be aware that you can call me at anytime, Prowl. As a friend and as your commander.”

Prowl looked into the worried optics and really got the feeling that he had missed something. “I will,” he promised.

Streetbump relaxed visibly. “Good. So your punishment for getting drunk is confinement in your quarters until the next shift, got that?”

“So, I'm grounded?” Prowl had to smile.

“If you want to call it that. Now go.” Streetbump opened the door. “And no more high-grade! And no berth-entertainment!”

“Understood, sir.” 

Prowl stepped outside and walked back to his quarter. Before it, he met Kibbler who looked a bit guilty. 

“Are you punished, sir? We never wanted to get you into trouble...”

“Not heavily so,” answered Prowl while he entered his code. “But I'm confined alone in my quarters until next shift.”

“Oh.” Kippler seemed disappointed. “So, maybe next time?”

Prowl nodded. “Maybe. I wish you a good orn.”

His quarters were silent, such a contrast to the loud rec room. Only now did he really register his unsteady walk, his slurred speech, the slow thoughts. As he sat down on his berth, he thought back to Jazz, to Kippler, to Streetbump... they had all been so strange. As if... 

And suddenly, there was a thought. Jazz had told 'everyone' they had 'fragged'. That Prowl had been good... and all those talks, double meanings...

Oh. Primus.

Prowl's processor stalled. So Kibbler... and Quickturn... and Swifttail's hack... Patch's strange questioning... and the party in the rec room just now and Streetbump.... they all...

No. 

Impossible. But true.

His circuits burned as they tried to find the sense, the logic in it – to no avail.

Primus.

They all thought... they all wanted...

Him.

Prowl crashed with a horrified whimper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Prowl finally realised what is going on. :D Of course, that this will actually *help* is more than doubtful... *hugs Prowl* Worse is to come, my dear.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

  
  
  


Not that far away lay another base. From the outside, it looked surprisingly similar and on the inside, the differences were negligible as well. The one big thing that told every clueless visitor that this wasn't just another base, but an enemy base, was the Decepticon logo on every soldier and in the main command room.

Truthfully, they hadn't much trouble with the Autobot base. A few skirmishes here, a bit stolen information there, but most of the time the bases simply existed to protect the territory of either side and no base had the required strength to do more than that. And so they existed next to each other as neighbours that officially hated each other, but unofficially just lived their lives. Which was often, though no one would say it aloud, quite boring around here.

Soundwave, the base commander, liked the as peaceful life as you could get in a war base. Still, he did his job. And when his cassettes registered a new kind of contraband the Autobots spoke of in their comm messages and on patrols, he got curious. Something new happened, something had changed. And he wanted to find out what.

It wasn't very difficult to send a cassette into the Autobot's base. Which was the first hint that nothing major was planned. Soundwave would never admit it, but this came as a relief to him. But when his cassette, Ratbat, found what he was searching for... Soundwave was a bit surprised.

"Ratbat certain?" he asked while looking at the screens, that all showed a certain black and white tactician in various poses. Working at his desk, his aft as he was picking up data pads, his lips as he drank energon... altogether there were at least thirty pictures. 

"Yes, yes!" came the excited answer. "They all wanted these, and the owner hid them away! Everyone has one or two of them."

Soundwave nodded. "I see. Order: Save pictures."

"I will!" Ratbat got to work. "Soundwave, why does everyone want these? They're boring pictures, he isn't doing anything on these!"

"Ratbat: Work."

"But I don't understand!" complained his youngest symbiont. "It's always sexy this, erotic that, wings elegant this, aft admirable that. And then they always talk about recharging in the berth and then interfacing." He stopped for a moment to think. "What is interfacing anyway? Is it like a processor purge during recharge?"

Soundwave froze. "Ratbat..." He had no choice. If his creation asked, it was time. "Answers: After mission."

Ratbat was excited. "Okay! I'll hurry!"

The little one returned successfully from his mission, and Soundwave carelessly uploaded the pictures on the mainframe. They were not worthy of any security clearance and now he really had another kind of problem. Interfacing education was a sensitive subject. 

So for once thoroughly distracted, he didn't see the seeker in the command room who had stared at the pictures in amazed fascination while working. When he noticed the next orn that the pictures had became a beloved contraband on his own base as well... well, he saw no harm in it.

Or at least he didn't see it, as long as any and all soldiers and seekers continued to refuse Ratbat's clumsy advances for interfacing. May Primus have mercy on the one stupid enough to even consider saying 'yes'.

0000

When Prowl woke, he felt worse than the morning after the party and that was saying something. For a moment utterly disoriented, he sat up nevertheless, helmet in his hand. Slowly he remembered what had happened, and worse, his conclusion. It all fit.

It was logical. But it also was... insane. Unreal. 

For as long as he could remember, everyone had seen him as a bot nice on the optics, but devoid of any personality or, as they called it, boring. And now suddenly all this didn't matter anymore, because he was good in the berth?

"Prowl, sir, how are you feeling?" asked someone.

He looked up and found one of the junior medics in front of him with a concerned expression. "TuneUp, right?" he asked and received a surprised, pleased nod in return. Sometimes it helped to be responsible for everyone's schedule. "I'm better, thank you."

"You crashed, sir." He looked at his pad. "The check-up yielded nothing worrying, but Patch insisted that I should ask you if you know why you crashed..."

Nosy, always concerned medics. "I know why, yes. I just have come to a realization that was long overdue. It will not happen again."

"That's good, sir." TuneUp smiled. "Maybe you want a through check-up by me anyway?"

A thorough check-up...? Prowl's new found knowledge analysed the sentence and activated every warning code in his head. What should he do? Surely, TuneUp couldn't mean...

TuneUp's hand caressed his own hips. Primus. He meant it.

Prowl hastily stood. "I'm afraid I've got duties."

"Later, maybe?" suggested the medic hopefully. "You know, the medic bay is always open, but for you... I would consider working extra long... after all, one can never be too careful, right? And you're an important member of this crew."

Some strange, deeply buried part within Prowl had the instinctual need to start screaming and running away. "Thank you," he said, trying to sound normal. "If you'll excuse me now...?"

TuneUp's smile vanished and a deep sigh escaped him. "I hope to see you in the rec room soon. You should come more often and dance. It certainly made my evening at the last party."

Dancing... at a party? In public?!

Prowl turned in mortification and run. 

Sadly, he learned something very important during the next few joors – a base that you couldn't leave can turn into a prison very very fast. Though Prowl wouldn't use the word prison. 

Asylum was much more accurate.

0000

Prowl tried to get through his orn somehow. He followed his schedule religiously and was in his office as long as possible, but sadly this wasn't always. Such as now, as he stood with Skywinder inspecting the new weapons, developed in Iacon by Perceptor, the chief scientist, and Wheeljack. That Wheeljack's name had showed up at all on the list of developers had alarmed them all. His fame hadn't exactly come from reliable, non-explosive inventions. It was not chance that Prowl was at least two steps away from the metal case at all times.

"Skywinder, do you already know what it does?"

The flier nodded excitedly. Without an ounce of fear, he opened the case. "This beauty is really something special. It shoots explosive missiles over two quartexes wide, while this whole thing barely weighs more than a standard blaster."

"Impressive," said Prowl and made a note on his pad. "How is the accuracy?"

The technical data was exchanged for a few more breems, and Prowl was already starting to relax – then they went to the shooting range.

"Do you want to try? I think it's best if the data is collected close and personally," said Skywinder and offered the missile launcher.

He was right and so Prowl took it, only to find himself standing at the shooting range with Skywinder close at his back, showing him how to hold the weapon. 

"Good," whispered the weapon master directly next to his audios. "A bit lower..." His arms touched Prowl's wings gently. Skywinder was a professional, his hands didn't wander, but he was too close to let it be chance. 

Prowl felt his warmth, the soft vibrations of his engine through the sensitive doorwings. And he couldn't help but shudder. Behind him Skywinder chuckled, obviously pleased. 

"Hold the weapon steadily. It's very accurate and the riflemech must be calm..."

And now Skywinder was teasing him. Prowl was sure of it! But he tried to calm down. To control himself. A hand was touching his left doorwing.

"I think a trained sniper could even use them over great distances to eliminate specific targets."

"I agree," said Prowl, just to show that he wasn't a bot to be seduced and played. "What scenario did you chose?"

"A small transport with four guards, two quartexes away." Skywinder's whole upper body touched Prowl's back – just for a moment. "I've heard you're quite good with the rifle, so I thought it appropriate."

"Good choice." Calm. He just needed to stay calm. Only then nothing would happen.

Another hand on his wing, he took aim. He shot.

"Direct hit. Transport eliminated." Skywinder's hand caressed the shoulders, then he stepped back. "Good work, Prowl. I see you're something on and off the battlefield."

"Thank you." Prowl gave him back the rifle. 

Skywinder smiled. "You have the potential to be deadly with weapons. If you're ever interested in extra training of any kind, I would be happy to deliver." He stepped a bit closer to Prowl again. "After all, your frame is surely a bit unchallenged with all the desk work."

"A bit," admitted Prowl, accidentally telling the truth, because he really didn't know what else to answer. At the calculating glint in Skywinder's optics, he knew it had been the wrong answer. "Though I'm afraid the training will be strictly professional," he added quickly.

"Oh, don't worry." Skywinder's smile widened. "It will be."

Sudden overwhelming nervousness let Prowl fabricate a story about an important meeting and with relief, he hurried outside.

0000

Soundwave's network of spies and sensors was impeccable and so it was to no one's surprise that he registered the explosions in the no bot's land between their own base and the Autobot base D-A. A fast response unit with very good reconnaissance skills was needed.

He commed the perfect cons for such an job: ::Seekers, attention. Disturbances in sector F2343-W. Several explosions. Order: Search- ::

::Understood, Soundwave,:: came the fast answer of Nightshade. ::We're already underway.::

The base commander stopped for an astrosecond to think about the implications. Normally, the seekers hated to be ordered to do something. They were capricious creatures. 

::Question: We?:: Never ask why. It would make them stop complying with his orders just out of spite.

::We as in Trine One, Four and Six.::

::... Nine seekers,:: said Soundwave before he could stop himself. That was thrice the amount needed.

::Correct, you can count!::

For a moment, the base commander considered ordering them back to punish them for insolence and … well, that was a problem, right? For once they were doing exactly as he wanted. Soundwave just had a bad feeling about the why. Surely they were flying enough in their free time? He hadn't restricted that in any way, mostly for his own sanity. No, for once he would just wait and see.

::Understood. Misson: Confirmed. Decepticons: Rise high..::

He logged out and leaned back. Waiting for the next explosions.

"Creator! Creator!" Ratbat flew inside, crying and distressed. "Rumble says that Seekers interface with everything, even their brothers and sisters in the trines! Is that true? Does that mean I have to interface with Rumble and Frenzy? Because they say I have to, but I don't want..."

Suddenly engulfed in anger, Soundwave knew where the next explosions would come from.

::Rumble, Frenzy. Command centre: Now.:: 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Yesterday was a celebration day in both of our countries. ;-) 
> 
> Have to admit this is one of my favourite chapters. I love Soundwave and his cassettes. ~silberstreif
> 
> On an important note: Starfire201 joined our team as a beta! We're both very happy about it, so all thanks to her!


End file.
